Tit for Tat [Worm]

[keighthundred]

CW: Non-consensual kissing, mind control, suicide imagery

9.

The evening light cast long shadows across the kitchen, shimmering zebra-stripes of amber bleeding through the blinds: a golden hour for golden-brown cookies, she'd told me. It felt like an indulgence, surrounding myself with so much gold—the setting sun, the cookies, Lisa. It was a dangerous thing, keeping so many reminders of Victoria nearby.

But I deserved a little indulgence every now and then. The danger was negligible. I was fine, I was doing okay, I was centered. Deep breaths, calming thoughts, namaste—whatever. I had all of it.

"You're getting chocolate on your face, you know," Lisa said.

I reached toward my face, feeling for a stain. "Huh. Am I?"

"Mhm." She reached over, wiping it off my cheek with a finger. "Right there," she said. "Careful now."

"Careful? It's just chocolate."

"Not that. I mean—you're distracted. And you've had four glasses of wine. I don't have to be a detective to be able to put two and two together."

She knew me too well by now. "...It's Victoria."

Victoria, who was talking about moving out. Victoria, who had canceled her plans on me yet again. Victoria, who shone like the naked sun. It was always about her, in my mind—a virus, infecting all my thoughts. So, as usual, I looked to Lisa for a cure.

"Ah," she said simply. "Well—I think I know a few things that could distract you from her."

I wiped my hands on my apron. "You know what?" I said, leaning in. "I think I'll take you up on that offer."

The timer beeped, startling me.

"Oh, hey—looks like the first batch is done," Lisa said.

"You want to get that?"

She shrugged. "Your kitchen. Up to you."

"I've got it." I threw on my mitts, tugged the oven open, and reached for the tray of cookies; chocolate chip. Heat soaked my cheeks, but they were already warm. I lifted the metal pan, moved for the counter, and—

Lisa caught me right before I slipped. I'd stepped wrong, socks sliding against hardwood as my body slid into hers, and on impact, my heart rushed in a roaring crescendo. Fireworks.

"I've got you," she said, holding me tight. "Think you had one too many glasses of wine."

Or maybe one too few pills, my treacherous mind thought. I brushed the thought aside, set the tray down on the counter next to the open wine bottle, and leaned into her embrace. "My hero," I said.

She laughed, reaching for a cookie. "You're the hero here, remember?"

"Right," I said, but there was a pit in my throat that wouldn't go away.

"Hey, hey, no. We promised, remember? No bad thoughts. Now, here—open up." She held the cookie up to my mouth for me to take a bite. "Mm. How's that?"

Warm, soft, sweet. "Wow."

"You like it?"

"It's like biting into a cloud. Except the cloud is, uh, filled with chocolate. Sorry—metaphor got away from me. Yeah, it's really good. Is this a special recipe of yours?"

She shrugged. "Nah, can't take credit for it. I found it online. There's this cooking channel that's supposedly run by a cape. Thought it was worth a shot."

"Supposedly, huh?"

"I did some digging. Cooking superpowers?" She snorted. "Come on. Every recipe on that channel was ripped straight out of a made-for-TV cookbook. But those cookbooks got good reviews, so…"

She shrugged again, raising the cookie toward my mouth, and I took another bite. The second was just as good as the first. "It could just be the golden hour," I said, pressing myself against Lisa. "It's what you told me, right?"

"You know that was bullshit."

"I mean, sure, but…" I waved my hands vaguely.

Lisa chuckled, gently pushing me away. "But placebo is a hell of a drug. Yeah, I get it."

I watched from my spot by the counter as she grabbed the second tray of cookies, taking in her every move: the grace in her motions, the way her hair almost glowed in the barest rays of the sun. She was so effortlessly beautiful, in a way I didn't think I'd ever be. Like Vi—

I bit my tongue. Like her.

But Lisa was different. Lisa was safe, in a way that nobody else was. If Victoria was the sun, then Lisa was like a lantern: controlled, steady, and healthier to look at. A microcosm of the real thing. And I didn't need to fight for her affection the way I needed to fight for my family's—her feelings toward me were sacrosanct, bedrock; absolute.

"You know, to be fair," Lisa said, shutting the oven, "all cookies taste good when they're still warm. The real test is how they'll taste an hour from now."

"Maybe you should take some home with you, then."

She hummed noncommittally. And then she glanced at her watch. "Five o'clock," she said. "Think it's time for me to go."

"You're sure you can't stay any longer?" There was a quality to my voice that gave Lisa pause, a longing, and I kicked myself mentally.

Damn it, Amy. Don't push too hard.

"Sorry."

"Okay," I said. "Okay. Have a safe drive."

"Amy," she said, grin slipping ever so slightly. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

I leaned in and gave her a kiss, breathing her in, devouring her, swallowing her. I dived as far as I could go. She smelled like chocolate, tasted like wine. An eternity later, we separated, surfacing for air.

"One more week," I said, catching my breath. "I've got tickets to the aquarium. Nine o'clock? We can get lunch after."

She squeezed my hand, hard. "Sounds wonderful."

1.

It started like any other Saturday in Brockton Bay: Carol had woken me up, and a PRT transport was already waiting outside. I'd gotten dressed while half awake, downed my first pill of the day on my way out the door, and slumped down in the rubberized seats in the back of a black van. The rubber was supposed to be multifunction, making the seats impact-resistant in addition to being comfortable, but in practice, as expected of PRT equipment, it did neither.

All I could do was catch up with the morning news, fighting off the last vestiges of sleep.

Apparently, a tinker-made bomb had gone off somewhere downtown, Victoria had just gotten back together with her white bread boyfriend, and two dozen people were injured to the breaking point, and she'd spent the whole night chatting with him over the phone, and four people had died on-scene, and I was trying so, so hard to give a shit. About any of it.

Really, for how hard I was trying, I deserved a medal.

"Sorry for your loss," I said, fingers soaked in blood. I moved onto the next patient. "Sorry for your loss."

Fucking Dean. Fucking Victoria.

"Sorry for your loss." I shoved someone's leg back on. "Do I have permission to heal you? Yes? Sorry for your loss."

I don't know why I wandered away from the hospital that day, away from those grasping, needy hands, whispering their meaningless thanks into my ear. There was always a mechanical quality to it, I thought: rote, like saying grace or showing up to church once a week. A cheap prayer in return for a miracle; a way to say, "Thank you for keeping me alive. Please don't change your mind."

As if I could. As if that was an option for me.

I never wanted to hear what they had to say, but I'd always stuck around, because… why? It was the right thing to do? No, that didn't ring true. Because I felt bad for them? No, obviously not.

Because Carol had told me to. Because it was important to the family to smile for the cameras.

Yeah, that was more like it. But I'd grown sick of it, that same old same-old; I was sick of Victoria pretending everything was perfect when she wouldn't even look me in the eye, and that day, I tossed my costume in the back of one of the hospital break rooms and left them all behind, straying into unknown territory. I punted empty cans out of the way, watching aluminum bounce against concrete and brickwork. I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't care.

As long as it wasn't home. Away, away, away. That was all I wanted.

I found myself kicking sand along the Boardwalk, watching the cold Atlantic waters lick the shore, merciless winds tousling my hair. Kids ran up and down the beach, cackling and shouting against the waves, fleeing from their parents like shadows from light.

There was a little cafe at the end of the row that I'd visited enough times to know in-and-out. I had my own special spot, by the north-facing window, overlooking the open water. It smelled like a delicious combo of salt, fish, and bird shit. I ordered my usual—a coffee with four sugars—and leaned back against my seat, staring out at the sea, looking out toward the horizon, watching the placid waters, trying to claim some semblance of calm for myself.

But of course, it didn't work. Of course, I still wanted to scream.

I took a sip of coffee, breathing in the bitter aroma, watching the steam rise in steady streams. And of course, it didn't help. Of course, I still wanted to hit something.

I breathed, in and out, in and out, like my bygone therapist from three years ago had taught me. I tried centering myself. I tried focusing on the here and now. And of course, none of it helped.

Because all I could think about was Victoria, and what was any of that bullshit in the face of the sun?

No matter how hard I worked, all I could think of were her vapid declarations of love for Dean. The walls were only so thick, and Victoria was so loud, with a presence larger than life. There was no ignoring her when she was right next door.

But I could've let it pass by me, could've done something to forget her words. I hated my lack of discipline, that sinking sickening feeling in my gut that told me Carol was right about me—because no matter what I did, I wanted Victoria like I wanted air, and I fucking hated it, hated myself for wanting her.

But there were the little brown pills in my bag. Antidepressants, prescribed years ago following my trigger event. Take one per day, the label read, and I'd already taken one in the morning—but this wasn't a one pill kind of day. They always made me tired, but today of all days, a little sleep sounded like an escape. I fished two tablets out of the bottle and downed them with a swig of coffee.

"Excuse me," someone said, and I looked up, a bitter word already on my tongue. It was always like this, especially when I was with Victoria—the celebrity worship, the constant begging for autographs and group photos—or worse: the sick, guilting me for free healing; the vain, tugging on my shoulder for cosmetic touch-ups. It was like everybody around me thought they owned me and my time just by virtue of recognizing me. But this time, just this time, my words died in my throat.

Because, standing there in front of me, was a girl, bright-eyed, blonde, smiling. Because, for a moment, I was reminded of a smaller, lither version of Victoria—except where Victoria was warm, this girl had a mischievous tilt to her grin.

The girl gestured at the chair across from me. "Is this seat taken?"

Yes, I should've said. I swirled my coffee in my mug, meeting her bottle-green eyes.

"...No?"

"Is that a question?"

I cleared my throat. "Uh—no. Yes, go ahead."

So she sat down, threw a laptop onto the table, and started typing away, all the while chatting at me. Multitasking, she said. She complained about her slow, aging computer, about her tedious coursework, about her annoying group partners. She talked about her ridiculous professors, about the bombing downtown, about her fancy new phone, and how it was bullshit that she couldn't use it in place of her laptop.

The girl's name was Lisa, I learned—and she was a student at the local community college. She'd dropped out, gotten her GED, and now she was taking courses while working shifts at a grocery store. And soon I was entranced, lost in her easy smile and her never ending stories. I couldn't stop staring. She probably thought I was a creep.

"God, I forgot to ask," she said, laughing. "What's your name?"

"Amy," I said. "Uh—Dallon. Panacea."

Her eyes widened. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah. You didn't know?"

"Never would've guessed. You don't exactly have the, uh…"

"What?"

"Look, I've met exactly one hero before, and he was a dick. Intimidating."

"Intimidating," I repeated, staring out the window. The sun was beginning to set, ocean darkening like an incoming wave of pitch. I'd been sitting here for hours. "Yeah, that's me."

"No," she said. "He was a dick, you're fine. I guess this is a learning moment for me. Not all heroes are the same."

"I'm 'fine.'" I snorted. "That's high praise."

"I don't give it away to just anybody, you know. Don't get a big head about it, Amy-uh-Dallon."

I gave her a light punch in the arm. "Ass."

"And don't you forget it."

For a moment, I was actually having a good time—and then a buzz from my pocket interrupted my thoughts. A new message from Victoria.


Victoria: Dinner with me and Dean next thurs? After the photoshoot?


I put my phone down like it was on fire. Fuck off, I wanted to say—but I knew I never could. Not to her.

"Look," Lisa said, and I turned my attention back to her. "I've got midterms coming up soon, but…" She tore a sheet out of her notebook, scrawled down a set of numbers, and shoved it into my hands. "You wanna hang out sometime after? There's this restaurant down the block—they make a mean pizza."

I found myself staring at the numbers, as if they'd change shape and vanish if I looked away even for a moment. Was she… asking me out? I'd never dated before, never like this. Maybe she was just being friendly.

Yeah, she was definitely just being friendly. People like her didn't ask out people like me, and I was ninety percent sure that Lisa wasn't into girls. Whatever this was, it was either platonic, or a prank, and I wasn't sure I wanted either.

"It doesn't have to be a serious thing if you don't want it to be," Lisa said, as if reading my mind. "But it can be. Y'know, a date."

"You're kidding," I said, putting the sheet down. My thoughts jumped to prank.

"I never kid about pizza." She put a hand over her heart, feigned sincerity. "Swear on my life. How's Thursday sound?"

I let out a forced laugh. "No, I mean—you're serious about the date part."

Lisa met my eyes. "I never kid about dates, either."

I swept my gaze across the room furiously, making sure nobody was close enough to have heard. Nobody seemed to be paying us any mind. "You know we're both girls, right?" I hissed.

"Since when is that a problem?" she challenged. "Didn't realize New Wave had a Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy."

"What about the… Empire 88?" I asked, lowering my voice.

"Come on—you're going to let those assholes run your life? I thought you hero types were supposed to be braver than that. Fighting for truth and justice, and all that." She wrinkled her nose. "Or, you know—a date."

I couldn't find the words to respond. There were a million reasons I should've turned her down, and I knew they existed, but facing down her stare, I couldn't piece together the words.

But Lisa didn't seem to notice the turmoil behind my eyes, and the way she looked at me had my heart twisting in such a way that my protests died before they were even born.

"So," she said, as if nothing had happened at all. "You in, Amy-uh-Dallon-Panacea?"

"Thursday?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

Thursday. I was supposed to go to an after-school thing, and then a photoshoot with the rest of New Wave. It wouldn't have been that bad if that was all it was—but the Wards were going to be there too, and if I had to watch my sister make goo-goo eyes at Dean for one more second, I was going to snap. I was probably going to kill somebody.

So for once, I shoved away other thoughts, buried my obligations, and focused on the here and now—and, miracle of miracles, for the first time in years, I found that I actually could. I could center myself, like I'd always wanted. Forget Carol, forget New Wave. For once, I could think about myself.

Lisa sat still, patiently waiting for my response.

"Thursday sounds great," I said, before I could sabotage myself any further.

10.

When the dolphin broke through the surface, spraying the railing and all the surrounding areas with a healthy splash of saltwater, it was like a bomb had gone off.

The crowd screamed in childish delight, and I cackled along with them. In the summer heat, a bit of impromptu rain was more than worth the price of admission. Lisa flashed me a bemused look from her spot a few steps away, her golden hair buried under a radioactive-yellow poncho. It was a Wednesday, so there weren't too many visitors—just a handful of people besides me and Lisa. It was all a de facto private show, just for us.

"Sorry," I said, laughing. "I used to have this aquatic animal phase when I was younger. I was obsessed."

"You don't say."

"I had this stuffed beluga when I was a kid. Caroline. It was like, my only friend until I was ten."

Lisa wrinkled her nose. "Never was a huge whale fan, myself. I always thought they were, you know—too big."

"But that's part of the appeal."

"Oh, I know. But I was always terrified of them. I had this picture book about the ocean, Miracles of—"

"—the Sea?"

"Shit, yeah, that was the one. You too, huh?"

"I think I read that book every day when I was a kid. It was a comfort thing for me."

"You remember the picture of that sperm whale? With the giant oversized eyes?"

"Oh, yeah." I laughed. "Think you're awakening some deep, buried memories in me."

"Yeah, that thing spooked me bad. So for the next couple years I was terrified of going to the beach, just in case one of those giant-fucking-blubber balls was hiding underneath the surface." She glanced out toward the pool, where sleek gray shapes glided just below the surface. "Dolphins are a little better. They still smell like fish, though."

"You don't like fish?"

She shrugged. "My parents had a seafood phase. We had tanks of live fish, for eating. Crabs and lobsters, too. It only lasted a couple years, but I learned to hate the smell pretty early on."

I gave her a curious glance. "You never talk about your parents," I said.

"I know." She flashed a smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's for a good reason. Look, uh, why don't you tell me about these little guys?"

No bad thoughts, I reminded myself.

"...Okay," I said, turning back to the dolphins. "See the bigger one? His name's Maxwell, named after the guy that built this place. I think they got him about twenty years ago, so he's basically middle aged, in human years."

"He's got the back pain to match," Lisa commented.

"Yeah?"

"The way he's swimming—it's off, slightly. He's got some sort of spinal issues."

"Huh," I said, a little put off. It was a childish thing to think, but it stung that Lisa knew more than me about a topic I cared about.

I took a breath. No bad thoughts. Center yourself.

Lisa was on my side, always. Mine. My shining light, my lantern in the dark. There was no reason for me to be jealous of her.

Maxwell leapt out of the water again, soaring like a bird. This time, the water struck me in the eyes, salt stinging flesh, and I recoiled. But the pavement was wet, and I'd misstepped, and found myself tumbling backwards.

Lisa caught me, her wet poncho pressing against me like sheets of ice. "Careful now," she said, winking. "Don't want to fall down now, do we?"

It took me a few heartbeats to come up with a response that didn't make me sound like an idiot—but as long as I was in Lisa's arms, it didn't matter so much. She was there, she was warm—even if her poncho wasn't—and she'd wait for me for as long as I needed.

"Why not?" I asked eventually, leaning in. "I've got you to catch me, don't I?"

Her smile didn't waver for a moment, but it took her an equal amount of time to respond. "Guess so," she said, helping me upright, and together, we stood by the railing.

We watched the dolphins until the morning clouds dispersed into wispy shapes, and the midday sun burned our scalps raw, and the dolphins got tired and disappeared below the surface, far away from our prying eyes.

"I'm not going to dig into it," I said, leaning against Lisa. "But shitty parents… I get what that's like."

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Thanks."

We ate lunch at a little cafe just outside of the aquarium, said our goodbyes, and—

"Amy," Lisa said, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

I leaned in and gave her a kiss, pressing hard. She smelled like fish and tasted like coffee, and I savored that unholy cacophony all at once. Fireworks. "One more week," I gasped, as we separated. "Movie? Next Friday?"

She gave me a look that I couldn't read—that I didn't want to read—and then nodded. "Sounds great."

2.

The pizza ended up being just as good as Lisa had said, but I hardly even noticed. All my attention was spent on the other girl's face like coins in a fountain. I was enraptured by her words, by her smile, by that effortless moth-like way she flitted from place to place and subject to subject.

"—and I said to him, 'No thanks, I have my own.'"

We broke out into laughter, and I found myself staring at all the soft details in the way she smiled, that soft ever-so-slight wrinkle at the edge of her eyes, the barest hint of teeth through lips.

"You're lucky he didn't call your bluff," I said.

"No way." She took a sip of her milkshake. "I can be a real bitch sometimes. You should've seen him. He looked like he'd just shat himself. No way was he going to call me out."

"Yeah? What if—"

My phone rang, but I didn't even have to look at the display to know who was calling. It was six o'clock. I knew exactly why Carol was ringing me.

"Sorry," I said. "I have to take this."

Lisa reached for another slice of pizza. "Don't keep me waiting too long, now, Dallon."

I hit answer, put my phone to my ear, and sucked in air.

"Amy, where are you?" There must've been some magical quality to Carol's disapproving glare, because even here, halfway across town, I could see it clear as day. It was burned into my retinas, carved straight into my brain. "You're missing the shoot."

And in that brief sentence, I could hear the accusation in her tone, that little bite in her inflection that said, 'You're lazy. You're useless.'

Fuck you, Carol.

"I told you," I said, keeping my tone low. "I had plans. I'm out right now."

"You never told me about any plans before I scheduled this."

"Yeah?" I scoffed. "Well, you never asked, did you? You just assumed I'd be okay with it, that I'd have the time on my schedule. News flash, Carol—I don't. I'm on a date, and you're interrupting it."

There was a drawn-out silence that spoke plenty: there would be hell to pay when I got home. "A date with who?"

"Someone I met. You don't know them. Does it matter?"

"What time will you be back?"

"I don't know." I glanced toward Lisa, but quickly looked away. "Nine o'clock."

"It's a weekday, Amy."

"Yeah, I'm aware. I'm not stupid."

Two heartbeats later, Carol responded, "...Fine. I'll see you at home. We'll talk about this then."

That was it; no 'enjoy your date', no further questions, because, in the end, like always, she didn't care. She was somehow more impersonal than my patients at the hospital: a rote 'goodbye', followed by dial tones.

I put my phone away, fuming.

"Something wrong?" Lisa asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's just my mom. It's fine."

"You don't look fine."

My fingers strayed toward my bag, toward my pills. I was already tired, but maybe it would be easier to deal if I was more tired. "Don't want to talk about it."

"Yeah, I know. I can tell. Wasn't going to make you. But, here." She pushed her milkshake in front of me. "Take a sip."

"Why?"

"Because you're feeling pissed off, and this'll help."

"I'm not pissed off," I said, but took a sip anyway. It tasted like if someone had hollowed out an iceberg and shoved vanilla inside—a bland combination of flavors that was somehow less than the sum of its parts.

"Better?"

I pushed the shake back to her. "Not really."

"Damn. Well, it was worth a try."

"No, it—you helped. Sorry." I shrugged. "I'm really trying not to spoil the mood."

"You didn't," she promised. "I'm still having a great time."

It said something, I supposed, that I couldn't tell whether or not she was lying. But either way, my night was ruined. That one little phone call had sapped all the energy out of me in record time.

And then my phone buzzed again.


Victoria: Ames, mom said you're on a date?


No, no, damn it. I couldn't think about Victoria, not here, not now. I was already fucked up enough—I didn't need any more reasons to associate Victoria with dating in my mind.


You: Yeah
Victoria: Holy shit
Victoria: Whats his name? Anyone I know?


"Goddamn it," I muttered.

"Amy?"

I typed out a quick response, put my phone on mute, and shoved it away where I couldn't see it anymore. I just wanted her to leave me alone.


You: Lisa


It took a second for the horror to set in, and by then, I was deep in it.

What had I just done? One impulsive moment, and I'd twisted everything beyond my control. It was out there, now. And what would my family think? What would they say? What would Victoria say?

There was the rational part of me that knew that Victoria wouldn't care one bit—and then there was that part of me, deep down, that was afraid I'd just given her the key to figuring out my secret. Because now she knew I liked girls, and she was a girl, wasn't she?

It would never happen. It was such a massive leap in logic to make that I knew she'd never reach it. But, that treacherous part of me said, she's one step closer to closing the gap.

"Hello? Earth to Dallon," Lisa said. "You with me?"

"Sorry," I said. "Uh, sorry. Just family stuff."

"Family stuff, huh?"

I shook my head, fighting through my nausea. "I think I just came out to my sister."

She stared at me silently for a long time, and suddenly, my inability to read her stopped being charming and instead became irritating. I didn't like sitting there under her motionless, impetuous gaze.

And then, without a word, she put her milkshake in front of me again. "Sip," she said, her face stone-cold serious.

I laughed—actually laughed—and took a sip. Surprisingly, it wasn't so bad, the second time around.

11.

On Friday, Taylor dropped Lisa off, putting a black mark on an otherwise cheerful date.

There was always something forced about her, unnatural the way that clowns were, sunken deep in that uncanny valley, like someone else's face had been plastered over hers—a smile slapped over a frown. There was an oddness in the way she'd linger by the door, staring at the two of us like a scientist studying ants.

"Do you need something, Taylor?" I asked. "Did you want to join us?"

She shook her head quickly, and her face was hidden behind that mask again—that smile. "I've got to go. Sorry. Enjoy your movie."

And she disappeared into the night.

On Friday nights, my parents were at work, and Victoria was off doing God knows what with Dean. We wouldn't be interrupted for some time, which was fine, I told myself. Lisa was more than enough of a substitute for them.

"Popcorn?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.

"Sure. As long as you don't eat it all before the movie starts."

"We're at my house, not a theater. If I manage to eat all the popcorn before the movie starts, I think I deserve a medal."

"Funny," she said, kicking back on the couch. "If you throw up, I'm not cleaning it up."

I popped a bag in the microwave and started up a DVD—a horror movie that'd been critically panned three years back. It was something inane, something harmless, about ghosts hunting down a bunch of teens in a fancy vacation home.

The popcorn tasted like ash, but I kept eating it anyway. At some point, the eating became automatic, second nature. I didn't even need to think about it—my focus was entirely on the TV, on the characters running around the screen.

"Ow," Lisa said. I glanced up. I'd accidentally thrown some popcorn at her face.

"Shit. Sorry."

"It's alright. If a handful of popcorn was enough to take me out, I probably would've died on the way here."

"Taylor's a bad driver?"

"Oh, yeah. She just got her permit two weeks ago. Barely knows how to handle the wheel. And before you ask—no, it's definitely not legal for her to be driving me. As long as you don't say anything, I won't."

We went back to watching the movie. The effects weren't bad, considering. But the twist ended up being that the ghosts had been drawn in by one of the teens, who was secretly a monster himself. A wolf in sheep's clothing, waiting for its moment to strike.

The movie left a bad taste in my mouth.

You're fine, I told myself. You're a good person.

"Not bad," Lisa said. "Not as good as the first one, but they never are." She checked her watch. "Six o'clock. Think Taylor's going to be here soon. So…"

I nodded. Wordlessly, I pulled her into a kiss, holding her tight. Tonight, she tasted like soot and bile, but I forced myself to enjoy it all the same. It wasn't so bad. I just had to build a tolerance to it, that was all.

This time, Lisa was the one to pull away.

"Amy…"

"Just one more week," I said, looking away. "Just—" My words caught in my throat, and I buried my face in my hands. "I'm sorry. I've been having a really shitty week, and… I don't know. God, I just can't be alone right now. I'm sorry."

She sat down beside me. I didn't know what she was thinking, and I didn't bother trying to guess.

"There's this… magic show next Tuesday. By the Towers, at the Harris Theater." I swallowed.

"You've got tickets," Lisa said, stock-still, an even-faced statue. "Victoria was going to go with you, but she canceled."

I nodded. I didn't have the will to speak. For a while, we sat in silence, and I stared off into the distance. Then, eventually, slowly, Lisa wrapped an arm around my shoulder. I leaned into her, clinging to her jacket like a drowning rat.

In a way, that's what I was, wasn't I? A pathetic little creature, falling apart, surviving only by leeching the strength from others. A parasite. A limpet, hanging on for dear life.

"Have you been taking your pills?" she asked.

"Yeah," I lied, my voice a whisper.

She held her imperious gaze for another two heartbeats, and I knew she didn't believe me.

"One more week," she said to me, patting me on the back. And then, like a ghost, she was gone.

3.

It was a suit-and-tie kind of restaurant, and I felt out of place wearing one of my sister's hand-me-downs. And I was sure everybody knew I didn't belong. There was an almost imperceptible glint in the way they all looked at me, from the waitstaff to the customers—a disapproving curl of the lips, like they'd just bitten into something rotten.

Lisa, on the other hand, was like a duck taking to water. She navigated the place with ease, ordering for both of us. Compared to her, I was a stain on the wall, a blemish on an otherwise perfect picture.

Victoria had picked out the restaurant, in the end. She'd been a whirlwind of emotions—proud, excited. Carol had been pissed off at the fact that I'd missed the photoshoot, but Victoria was a force to be reckoned with, and it seemed that cooler heads had prevailed, in the end.

Does she make you happy? Victoria had asked.

She could never know that my first thought was, She's not you.

But I'd said yes. Of course I'd said yes. When I was with Lisa, I wasn't with Victoria, and really, that was all that mattered. Everything else was just a nice bonus, a cherry on top. Sure, I liked that I could be myself around Lisa, that I was less tired when I was with her, that she always knew the right thing to say to make me feel better.

But the key thing was that she wasn't Victoria.

I turned my gaze to Lisa. "You know, I'm surprised," I said. "You really know your way around here."

"Oh, that?" She shrugged. "I came from a wealthy family. I used to go to these places all the time."

"Used to?"

"We don't talk anymore. Long story, but I got cut off and ended up moving here with a cousin."

"Shit. That sucks."

She shrugged again. "It is what it is. It's probably for the best, anyway. I'm better off without their money, even if I have to share a place with half a dozen people."

"What about your cousin?"

"Oh, her?" She flashed an ugly look. "She ditched me a couple years back. Why do you think I dropped out of school?"

"Oh," I said, not knowing how else to respond. But it seemed like Lisa didn't notice—or didn't care—that I had nothing to say.

Our appetizers arrived: a strange multicolored concoction on a plate five times its size. Even after a minute of staring, I had no idea what I was looking at.

"Hey, Lisa? Uh…"

She glanced up, and almost looked taken aback at the sight of food on the table. "What?"

"I was just going to ask you what this is, exactly. Are you…" I wasn't sure how to phrase it. "...okay?"

"I'm fine. Great."

"Is this… about your cousin? I mean—did I touch on a sore subject, or…?"

"No. You're fine."

"Because if it is, I'm s—"

"Look," she snapped, "I don't dig into your private stuff. Do me a favor, Dallon? Stay out of mine."

I felt blindsided. "Wow. Okay. I'm sorry I was concerned about you."

"Well, you know what? I didn't ask for your concern, thank you very much."

"Jesus. God, I'm sorry I asked. Are you happy?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but clapped it shut. "No. No, shit, I'm sorry. I'm being an asshole." She flashed an apologetic smile. "Look, I've just been a little… preoccupied, alright? I'm just stressed out. It's nothing you did. Let's just… relax."

"Relax," I repeated. "Right."

Lisa dug into the multicolored mystery appetizer like it had insulted her family. She didn't look even slightly relaxed.

"Is this… anything I can help you with?"

"No," she said quickly. "No. It's not something you should have to help with. It wouldn't be fair to you." She forced a smile. "Sorry. Let's just enjoy dinner."

I frowned. "No, hold on—what do you mean?" When she didn't answer, I pushed. "Lisa. Come on."

"Fine. Fine." She sighed. "Remember that bombing a couple weeks ago?"

"Yeah. I was there, healing victims. An ABB attack, right? Bakuda?"

She nodded. "My roommate was caught in one of the blasts, and… it was bad. Really bad. But she was only at the hospital for a day, didn't stick around long enough for anything other than some stitches, because…" Lisa shrugged. "She can't afford it. Just that one day in the hospital got her stuck with a bill she can't pay. Her family doesn't have the money, and she's still hurt, bad. Most days, she can barely walk. So I've been working extra shifts, trying to make up the difference."

Immediately, I felt like an asshole, like a kid throwing a temper tantrum. She had real problems to deal with, while I'd been pissy for no reason.

"I'll help," I said.

"No," she said. "No, I'm not going to ask you for that. I don't want you to feel like you're being used. I know how that feels, and it sucks. Why do you think I ran away from my parents?" She shook her head. "I've already got a decent chunk of the money saved up. It's going to be fine. I'll get her through physical therapy. Just…"

"Save your money, Lisa. You don't need to ask. I'm volunteering. I'll come over first thing tomorrow."

In that moment, it was like seeing daylight for the first time—like walls that had blocked out the sun had just cracked, and I had caught its first few precious rays. It was like learning to see, like taking our first steps together.

Lisa's trademark smile wavered, and my heart swelled with it.

"Thank you so much," she said.

12.

The whole night, I could tell that Lisa was avoiding my eyes. She found excuses, pretended to be dazzled by the display of magic, but she couldn't hide it from me. I'd seen it before, with Dean, with my parents.

I'm trying, I wanted to say. But she was silent beside me, and there was no room to say it. It wasn't my fault. I just wanted to be—I just wanted us both to be happy. Couldn't she see that?

"And now, I'll need a few volunteers from the audience." The magician on the stage—a lanky guy I'd never heard of named Oliver Dart—stepped to the edge of the stage, and waved his arms towards the seats. He squinted, and as luck would have it, his gaze landed on us. "What about you two ladies? The one in the purple shirt, and the one in the sweater?"

Lisa stood, meeting my eyes for the first time that night. She flashed a faux smile. "Looks like we're up, Amy."

She gripped my hand, and I followed her up to the stage. Wait, I wanted to say, but didn't. We were already moving.

There was something about being seen by a crowd that still twisted my stomach in knots. It didn't matter how many PR events I'd attended, or how long I spent in costume—seeing hundreds of watchful, judgmental eyes always had me feeling sick. But Lisa took it in stride, climbing up onto the stage without a moment of hesitation.

I tripped on the way up the stage, like my legs were swimming through jelly. Lisa caught me without even looking at me, and helped me up the steps.

A single large box, about seven feet tall, colored with dozens of prismatic shades, sat in the center of the space. One of the sides had a door that slid open vertically. The magician pointed his microphone toward Lisa. "What's your name, dear?"
"Lisa."

"Lisa. Would you mind doing me a favor, and step into this box for me?"

"Sure thing," she said, easily stepping through the open door.

The magician pulled it shut, and then turned to me, pointing his microphone once again. My turn. "And what's your name?" he asked.

"Amy," I said, looking at him, and not the audience. As long as I didn't look at the audience, I'd be fine.

Look toward the box, toward Lisa.

"Amy," he said. "Could you please examine the outside of the box? Confirm for everyone that there are no hidden mirrors, strings, or any other tricks?"

I did as he asked, circling the box, sweeping my fingers against its surface. I could feel billions of bacteria under my touch as I grazed the wooden surface, but no matter how hard I pressed, I couldn't feel her. To my senses, she didn't even exist.

"There's nothing there," I announced, and I put every ounce of strength into maintaining my composure.

"Fantastic. Now, please step back, Amy."

I obliged, walking to the edge of the stage, my eyes never straying from the box for a moment. The magician opened the door again, and as most people could've guessed, Lisa was gone.

It was just a part of the show. It was a standard trick. But seeing that empty box, my heart sank all the same.

Come back, I wanted to say. But of course, she couldn't hear me.

4.

Lisa lived in an apartment by the Docks—a cheap, rundown place with cracked brickwork and trash littering every possible surface. It was the kind of place you'd see featured on the six o'clock news.

"Sorry," she said. "Money's a little tight right now."

"No, I get it." I stuck close to her, casting glances toward the little mounds of dog shit that seemed to be scattered around the grass. "I'm not judging."

She took me up to the third floor, apartment 304, and with an exaggerated flourish, welcomed me in. Her place, thankfully, was much cleaner than the lot outside—everything was spotless. It was so spotless that it hardly even looked used. The countertops looked straight out of a catalog.

"Taylor's in here," she said, leading me into one of the bedrooms. This room, too, was spartan. The walls were plain, and the furniture was drab—hotel-room-drab. There was as much personality in it as a blank sheet of paper.

On the bed was Taylor—and she looked as bad as Lisa had described. No, worse, even. There were untreated wounds all over her arms, unhealed burns marring her cheek. Her skin was sallow, gaunt, as if she hadn't eaten in days. "Lisa," Taylor croaked. "You're back."

"I'm back. It's going to be alright. This is Amy," she said. "Panacea." She put a hand on my back. "Can you help her?"

"I'll try." I approached the bed. "Do I have permission to heal you, Taylor?"

"Yeah," Taylor breathed.

I reached out and touched her hand, and lost myself in a dazzling web of injuries—microfractures in her bones, abrasions on every surface. There were almost too many to count. Her spine was barely holding together, and from what I could tell, she was entirely paralyzed from the waist down. It was so much worse than Lisa had said. She was lucky to be alive.

My attention moved upward, toward the minute cracks in Taylor's skull.

And then, I froze. My breath hitched. Taylor had an active Corona Pollentia.

She was a cape. She had powers.

And she wasn't a hero, because a hero would've come to me through official channels. They would've asked the PRT to get in contact with me. The realization hit me like a hammer blow, and I paralyzed her, ensuring she wouldn't be able to attack me.

There was the tell-tale click of a gun being loaded. "Don't," Lisa said, aiming a pistol at my back. "I'm sorry, Amy. Really. It's nothing personal."

My knees felt weak. It was a wonder I could even stand. "Who are you?"

"Does it really matter?"

God, I'd been so stupid. Of course Lisa just wanted to use me. Everybody did. That's all I was good for. I didn't even deserve to feel betrayed—it was on me, for being so blind. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Such a fucking idiot.

I turned around, facing her. "Is Lisa even your real name?" I sounded so small, like a fucking child. I could hear Carol's words now: stand up straighter; assert yourself. But I couldn't. I could hardly breathe.

"It's real enough," she said.

"Was any of it real? Your—your cousin, your classes—"

She shook her head slowly. "No."

"Are you even gay?"

She shrugged, and that broke my heart worst of all.

"You're a villain," I said, my mind spiraling, thoughts unraveling. "You're both villains."

Of course the apartment was bare. This wasn't where they really lived. This was just some place they could meet me without attracting attention. I was kicking myself. It was all so obvious. Carol would've chewed me out for not spotting it earlier. She'd taught me, hadn't she?

"You're not stupid," Lisa said. "You were just lonely."

"Don't fucking patronize me," I spat.

She hummed. "I'm sorry we had to go through all of this song and dance," she said. "I know it sucks. But I really need you to undo what you did to Taylor, and heal her."

"Fuck you! You didn't have to—you didn't—"

"No, I didn't. And I wasn't going to, at least not at first. I was just going to pay you off, or find some other leverage to use, but… then I saw how you looked at me." She shrugged. "So I did what I had to—I picked the option with the highest chance of working. I owed it to Taylor."

I looked at Taylor, then back at her. Her, with the bright eyes and the golden hair. "You aren't with Empire 88, are you?"

Lisa laughed. "Us? No way. We're small-time. Harmless, really."

"You're pointing a gun at me. That's harmless to you?"

"Desperate times, et cetera," she said. "Now please, if you don't mind? Heal Taylor. Because if you don't, things are going to get a lot worse for you very quickly."

"You won't shoot me," I said. "If you shoot me, your friend doesn't get healed."

I had the upper hand here. All I had to do was close the gap and touch her. I could knock her out like a light. I'd practiced it a million times—self defense training, in the event that anything like this ever happened.

She grinned her trademark grin—except now it was twisted, ugly, painful. "Don't worry. I wasn't planning on it. The gun is just a precaution. No, I can do something much worse if you don't cooperate—I know certain things," she said. "Secrets you really don't want to know. Secrets you really don't want getting out."

And despite everything, despite my training, I froze. No. No, it couldn't be. This wasn't happening.

"See, I know who your real father is. I know you've spent so many sleepless nights wondering if you're somehow broken inside, because of him. And it'll burn you up inside, knowing the truth, left to wonder. And I'm telling you now—it'll be a hell of a lot worse than it's been."

Shut up, I wanted to say. Shut up.

"And, well—the other thing. Oh, Amy. I know about Victoria. I know how you feel about her. How do you think she'd feel if she knew?"

I let out a strangled cry and leapt at her, but she had already backed out of my range. The gun remained trained on my head. "Don't bother," she said. "I've arranged for the news to go out in an hour from now, unless I'm there to stop it. You kill me, you hurt me, you do anything I don't like, and it goes out as planned."

"Please," I said. Begged. My heart was racing like a jackhammer. Tears forced their way out of my eyes. "You can't do this."

"Oh, don't you worry your little head—I can. I've done it before, and I'll do it again. But it doesn't have to be this way," she said. "All you have to do is heal Taylor, and everything will go back to normal. We'll disappear, and you can pretend this never happened. Tell your parents you broke up with me. Easy as that."

She was wrong, so very wrong. I couldn't go back. I'd stepped over the precipice so many days ago, the very first day I'd met her. I'd decided that I could survive without Victoria, because someone else could stand in her place.

And now she was going to rip it all away from me, one way or another. I'd lose everything. Even if I did this for her, I'd lose everything.

Lisa's expression softened, just slightly. "Look, I'm sorry it wasn't real—I am. But… listen, you're a good person, Amy. I know it's hard sometimes, harder than it is for other people, and when things get shitty, the lines get muddied, but… deep down, you have it in you to be a hero. I can see it. You've got that potential, Amy. You don't need me. You don't need anyone."

The tears streaked across my cheeks. "You're wrong." How could I ever be a good person when I was fucked up inside? When all I wanted to do was take Victoria, taste her, swallow her up until there was nothing left?

It was all bullshit. I was twisted; that was the truth. The fact that Lisa wasn't willing to let me touch her spoke volumes. She'd never let me touch her in all the time I'd known her, not once.

"Look," Lisa said, lowering the gun. "I know you. I can see you're a caring, empathetic person, even when you can't see it yourself. You have a crush, but that's not something you can control. What you can control is what you do with it, and I've seen you. You try so hard every day, because you care, because you're a good person." She took a breath. "Amy, you can do this. You can move on from this. Do the right thing."

But still, she wouldn't let me touch her.

Do the right thing, I told myself, fingers trembling. Do the right thing. You're a good person.

I reached out toward Taylor and began to heal. Soon enough, she was sleeping soundly: her injuries were gone, as if they'd never been there in the first place. The only evidence that she had ever been injured was the fact that she was malnourished. It was a perfect job, in the end.

But I couldn't bring myself to feel happy about it.

13.

My fingers were trembling, and I had no idea why. It wasn't the pills—not anymore. I drank some water, washed my face, but still, they were trembling. I couldn't be dealing with this, not when I had a date with Lisa in half an hour. I stared at myself in the mirror. I was fine. I was doing fine.

"Amy."

I turned. There, slouching by the doorway, was Taylor, studying me, as usual.

"Do you need something?" I asked.

"I… never got the chance to properly thank you for healing me. So, thank you."

"You're welcome." I narrowed my eyes. "But that's not really what you're here to say, is it? You wouldn't sneak into my house just to say that."

"Let her go," she said, as if it were that simple. "We won't tell anyone what happened. We'll just go our separate ways, and you'll never see us again."

My temper snapped like a twig. "I'm doing her a favor. Lisa doesn't take care of herself enough, you know. She never stops to take a break. She's healthier because of me."

"Let her go," she repeated. Her tone was even, calm, but there was something in it that had the bite of a threat.

"I will," I said. My mouth felt dry. "Of course I will. Once I'm—once we're both in a good place. Because Lisa's not doing well. You're her friend. You can see it, can't you?"

"...No."

"You're just not looking," I pressed. "You're not seeing it. She's having a rough time, too, you know. She needs this, needs me, even if she doesn't know it. She's got all kinds of problems—stress migraines, high blood pressure, scars. Internal scars. I'm managing all of it for her."

"How long do you think you can keep this up?" Taylor asked. "You're going to keep this going one week at a time? Forever? This can't last."

"It doesn't need to last," I spat. "I'm going to let her go, alright? Jesus Christ, you're acting like I'm some kind of monster. I'm not the villain here."

"Okay," she said. "Then do it. Let her go."

"If I do it now, she'll just run, and then she'll go and undo everything I've done for her. I lo—care about her too much to let her hurt herself."

"That's her choice."

"No, it's not," I said, gritting my teeth. "I know what's best for her."

"Amy," she said. "Please."
I turned back to the sink. My hands were shaking. "Get the hell out of my house."

For a moment, she was silent. And then, barely audible, like the sound of a million tiny flies: "I tried."

She was gone by the time I finished up. I threw on some clothes and headed for the door—but on the way out, I ran into the one person I wanted to see the least.

"Oh, hey, Ames," Victoria said, smearing butter on a slice of bread. "You're headed out?"

"Yeah," I said. "Gotta go."

She shoved the bread into a toaster. "You're meeting Lisa?"

"Yep."

"Okay. Cool. Have fun." And then, pausing, "Are you still up for that game on Saturday?"

I shrugged.

"I feel like we never hang out these days," she said.

"Yeah?" I muttered under my breath. "Whose fault is that?"

"What?"

I turned, then, my head snapping viciously toward her perfect, beautiful face. My fingers were still trembling, but I ignored them. "Nothing," I said, forcing a smile. "Have fun with Dean."

"Ames—"

I didn't catch the rest of it. I didn't want to hear it. Anything she said would just poison me further, dragging me down, and down, and down. And I couldn't afford that—not now, not when I finally had someone else to set my sights on.

Not when I had Lisa. One more week.

5.

I broke down halfway out the door of Lisa's apartment complex, collapsing on the filthy concrete front steps that smelled like piss and tobacco. I heaved my breakfast out into the grass and wiped my mouth on my sleeve.

I didn't know what to do. I should've called the PRT, gone back to take those villains down, done something—but I couldn't, because if I did, then my secret would be out, and Victoria would hate me forever. That, I was absolutely sure of. Lisa had my heart in her hands in every way that mattered. Lisa owned me.

And the worst part was knowing that there was no guarantee Lisa would follow through with her end of the deal. I might've just sold my soul for nothing.

My phone buzzed.


Carol: Where are you? We're at the PRT event, and you aren't here.
Carol: Answer your phone.
Carol: We're going to talk about this.


I'd turned my ringer off. I'd missed three calls from her.

"Goddamn it," I spat through choked breaths. "Fucking fuck."

I couldn't deal with this, especially not now. My secrets were on the precipice of unraveling, and I was maybe two steps away from snapping entirely.

What I needed was support—someone to keep me steady. My mind wandered dangerously toward Victoria, before I steeled myself. No. Not her. Never her. Involving her would just make things worse.

I needed to clear my head, and in the absence of other options, I reached for my bag, pulled out my little pill bottle, and dry-swallowed four tablets. It went down like chalk.

But my mind continued to wander. It wasn't enough. None of this was enough anymore. I needed—I needed…

Lisa.

I let out a choked noise, halfway between a sob and a laugh. God, it was such a stupid idea. But Lisa had been the only person other than Victoria that could keep me steady. Lisa was—Lisa was different from her. Being with Victoria was like playing with matches—sooner or later, I would get burned. But Lisa wasn't as volatile, wasn't as dangerous. She could be contained. She could help me in a way that I couldn't afford to try with Victoria.

And the more I thought about it, the better that idea seemed. There had to have been something between us. It couldn't have all been fake. There was no way. I'd seen it in her eyes, at least once, at that moment when I'd agreed to heal Taylor for her.

I wasn't imagining it. It was there. We'd had a connection, her and I. Maybe it had just been a spark, it was something. Sparks could start fires. It was a foundation to build off of. All I had to do was put the work in.

Really, Carol would be proud of me.

I tossed my useless pill bottle into the grass, turned around, and marched right back up the stairs, right back to apartment 304. I needed to know. I needed to see her.

The door was still open when I arrived. Inside, Lisa was stuffing things into a trash bag—old bandages, dirty clothes. She looked up immediately, as if alerted by some supernatural sense that told her I was there, like she was a dog, and I was a ghost.

Boo.

"Amy," she said. Was that surprise on her face? Did she know why I was here?

I pushed my way inside. She took a few steps back, reaching for something in her waistband. Her gun, probably. I was beyond caring. "Where's Taylor?"

"She already left."

Good, I thought. That made this easier. "I just wanted to talk," I said.

But Lisa was already two steps ahead of me. She shook her head frantically. "It wasn't real, Amy. I'm sorry, but it wasn't. I don't like you that way."

"You're lying," I said. "I know you're lying."

"I'm not. I swear to God."

Of course she was lying. She was always lying. She'd never told me the truth, not once.

She'd told me she was a college student. Lie.

She'd told me about her family. Lie.

She'd told me I was a good person. Lie.

I wanted her to tell me the truth, just once. She'd broken my heart, blackmailed me, pointed a gun at me—the truth was the least she could offer me.

So I reached out, and before she could shoot, I touched her wrist.

Lisa recoiled as if I'd stung her. But, of course, I'd done so much more than that. I'd seen her, seen the heart of her, understood her in a way that nobody else ever would. I'd seen every little strand of DNA that made her the person she was. And with that, I reached in, and twisted.

"What the fuck did you just do?" Lisa asked, breath tightening, eyes narrowing. "What the fuck did you do?"

I didn't feel like answering. No, I felt like vomiting, a broiling, burbling heat in my gut, rising and rising, pressing its way up my throat until there was nothing I could do but let it all out:

"You think you're this smug bitch, right?" I spat. "Say whatever the fuck you want, do whatever the fuck you want, no rules, no inhibitions? Bullshit, Lisa. Bullshit. You've always been a hypocrite, all flash, no substance, like Carol, like the rest of this goddamn city. Your heart was never in it." My lips twisted into the cruel approximation of a smile. "But it is now. How's it feel, Lisa?"

Deep down inside her soul, where there'd been bitter malice, boxed in by the faint whispers of conscience and morality, there was now only an open door. And I'd let it all out, smashed the locks, and thrown away the key.

"You're a fucking monster, Amy," she hissed, grabbing my arm, nails digging into flesh. "You think nobody could ever love you because of your villain dad, or because of your fucking blonde bimbo sister fetish, but no. That's not it. You think Carol doesn't love you because you're adopted, or because she knows where you came from, but it's not. Carol doesn't love you, because every single thing that she was afraid you might become, you did. You lived up to her worst nightmares. When you're around her, it's like you suck all the light out of the room. People look at you, and they can smell it on you. You're dirty, all the way down. They take one look at you and they can tell you're a fuckup, a loser, a pervert, a creep. You had the potential to be a good person, but you threw it away, because that's just the kind of monster you are—a monster by choice."

Lisa's fingers dug deeper. It cut like a knife to the heart… and I smiled. Finally, finally, there it was. There, out in the open, was what she really thought of me.

Finally.

"Your father was Marquis, a vicious, evil piece of shit. And the funny thing? You're worse than your father ever was, because at least he had a code. At least he—"

I pulled her into a deep, searching kiss. Searching for what, I wasn't sure—but I found myself lost in her lips, her sullen breaths, her racing pulse. Her heart couldn't tell the difference between anger and arousal, and neither could I. We were the same, then, her and I, united in our hatred for that mealy-mouthed waste of a human called Amelia Dallon.

And I fucking loved it.

And in that moment, an idea came to me—an intrusive thought, knocking at the door of my soul, saying, What if?

It was a moment of weakness, and she'd pushed me into it. I was hurting, fractured, vulnerable, and Lisa had known it, but she'd chosen to break me anyway. I was in so much pain, and I just wanted it to stop. Everything that happened next was her fault, not mine.

I opened that door and let wicked thought inside, let it control me, let it run me like a machine. And under its direction, I reached into Lisa, and changed her one more time. And something about it felt right. There was that basic, primitive part of my hindbrain that just couldn't help but enjoy the transgression, couldn't help but wring neurotransmitters out of neurons like juice, like the way I was wringing Lisa's lungs.

I moaned.

Lisa pulled away, tearing herself from my embrace. "You're fucking—" Her scowl twisted deeper. "Jesus Christ, you're getting off on this? You're a psychopath. You're a freak. You think I care about you? No one would ever love you unless you forced them too."

She reached for her gun.

"No," I said, laughing deliriously. "You won't shoot me."

"I will," she said, drawing it from its holster. "You just made it so I can. I won't even feel bad about it."

"You think that's all I did?" I imitated her knowing grin, and it was oh-so gratifying. I could see now why she did it so often. In that precipitous moment of triumph, there was no greater satisfaction. "No, Lisa. No. Do you feel that in your chest? Those little lumps around your lungs?" I giggled. "Tumors. Really nasty way to go. You've got a week left to live. Maybe two, if you're lucky."

Her eyes narrowed like razors, because the truth in my eyes was undeniable, and she knew it. "Fix me," she rasped, pulling back the hammer. "Now. Fucking fix me!"

"You have a week left to live," I said. "...Unless I do something about it."

"You're psychotic," she spat. "You're insane."

I stood, staring down the barrel of the gun. "Makes two of us, doesn't it?"

Lisa shook the gun. "Fix me! Goddamn it, Amy, fix me!"

I took a step forward. The gun pressed against my forehead, but some inner will kept me still. "How about this? You delete everything you have on me." I licked my lips. "And… you have dinner with me tomorrow, and I'll think about it. Boardwalk, eight o'clock?"

"You're disgusting—"

I reached out and touched her wrist. "Oops," I said. "Looks like your inhibitions are back."

Her hands trembled, and for a moment it looked like she might actually pull the trigger. But she didn't. I knew she didn't have it in her, not like this. Not the way I'd made her.

"Fuck," she mumbled under her breath, letting the gun clatter to the floor. "Fuck, fuck."

She'd said it herself: nobody would ever love me, unless I forced them to. I gave her a peck on the cheek and turned to leave.

"You used me, Lisa," I said, on my way toward the door. "You broke my heart and tossed it in the trash. I think it's only fair I get to use you back." I pulled my hood over my head. "See you tomorrow."

14.

The little cafe on the boardwalk was where it had all started. It was fitting, then, that it was where it should all end.

Lisa was waiting for me at my favorite table—the salt-fish-bird shit table—wearing all black: a black dress, a black bracelet. She'd already ordered coffee.

I sat down across from her. My fingers were still trembling, and I still had no idea why. I hadn't had a single pill in weeks. I didn't need them anymore. And things were better this way. Everything was clearer, sharper, more real.

So why was there still this damn trembling in my fingers? Maybe that was the price of clarity: too much surety for a human body to contain. Maybe it was bursting at the seams, forcing its way out.

"Hey," Lisa said, stirring her coffee.

"Hey yourself," I said back. "You're looking fancy today."

"Yeah, well," she said. "I thought it was fitting. Special occasion, and all."

Something about that phrasing rubbed me the wrong way. "Special occasion?"

"You'll see." She gestured toward the menu. "Are you going to order anything?"

"Hm?" I glanced briefly at the laminated sheet. "Yeah, sure." I ordered my usual—the coffee with four sugars.

"You might want something to eat, too."

"Why?"

She smiled, baring her teeth. "It's a surprise."

A surprise.

Immediately, I reached out and grabbed her wrist. I took her heart into my hands, read her pulse to the most minute degree. "What are you planning?" I asked. "Tell me right now."

She only smiled wider. "Or what?"

"Or I'll make things worse," I hissed.

"Will you?"

"I can do so much worse than I already have," I spat. "I can make everything you eat taste like bile. I can make you blind. I can make every little breath burn like fire. Don't test me."

Her smile didn't waver for a moment. "Can you?"

"Don't play stupid. You already know exactly what I can do."

"I don't know," she said. "Looks like your fingers are acting up."

"What?"

And then, as if some invisible force had grabbed me, my arm pulled away from hers, and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't fight, couldn't resist. My heart skipped a beat.

What the fuck? What the fuck was happening? How was she doing this?

"Let's set some new rules," Lisa said, leaning back in her chair, taking a sip of coffee. "You don't touch me without permission. You do everything I tell you to do. Got it?"

"What did you do?" I whispered.

She shook her head. "Got it?" she repeated, louder.

"Got it," my mouth said. No, no, no—I hadn't said that. I wasn't—I wasn't doing any of this.

"Finally. It sure took you a fucking while," Lisa said. "Would've thought you'd be better at this."

"Hey—fuck you," my mouth said, laughing with my lungs. "I've been out of practice."

"Uh-huh." She snapped her fingers. "Let her talk for a sec, Regent."

And then I could breathe again, move my tongue again, swallow. "What the hell is happening?" I gasped.

"I'll explain. But are you sure you don't want anything to eat? Wouldn't want to begrudge you a last meal."

Last meal? What was she—

"Guess not, then," she said. "Fine, we'll get right to it. I think you've probably already guessed, but if you haven't—I've got a master on my team. Say hello, Regent."

"'Sup, you piece of shit," my mouth said. All I could do was sit there, horrified.

"You should thank him—he's been working on you this whole time, and it's the only reason I played along with your fucked up little game. Because, fuck, Amy—if I had to pretend to be your girlfriend forever, I think I'd kill myself." She tapped her head. "I've got a power that constantly supplies me with little details, dirty secrets. Most people gross me out, but looking at you? It's like staring at a public toilet. Imagine having to kiss one of those, every week, for the rest of your life."

Then she offered a hand.

"Regent? Would you mind?"

My hand reached out, touched hers, and without wanting to, I excised the tumors from her body, destroying them without a trace.

"There we go." She took in a few breaths like she had just discovered air. "Fucking finally. Now, there's just one thing left to do. What are we going to do about you, hm?"

"Please," I said, tears slipping out. My hands automatically pulled back to wipe them away.

"Nope. Sorry. You had your chance already. Taylor, that poor bleeding heart, actually wanted to give you an opportunity to walk away on your own. But you wouldn't do that, would you? You never would."

"I was trying to help you," I said. "I wanted to—keep you healthy, and—"

"Save it," she said, her bottle-green eyes boring into mine. "It's over. I win. I just want to know one thing. The only reason I was able to do any of this, plan against you, send Regent after you, was because you never changed my brain to prevent me from trying. But you'd already broken your one rule. You'd already fucked with my head. So why didn't you do it? Why didn't you go all the way?"

I kept silent. It was the only choice left I could make.

"Amy," Lisa said sweetly. "If you don't answer me, I'll make you regret it. Seriously. I've been dreaming about this day for months. You have no idea what kind of twisted shit I've come up with. Because, see, I own you now. I can make you do anything. And the kind of stuff I could make you do to your precious little Glory Hole?" She licked her lips. "God, I almost hope you don't answer me. It would be so fun."

"I wanted you to love me for real," I blurted out. I let out two heaving breaths before I found it in me to continue. "And if I changed you, it wouldn't be…"

Her face screwed up in disgust. For a minute, she looked me up and down, as if exhuming a corpse. And then, nodding, she stood.

"Let's walk," she said, and without my input, my body followed.

6.

"Your food's getting cold," I said.

"I'm not hungry."

I wanted to shout at her. I wanted to scream, to tell her to stop being so childish when it was her own fault she was here. But for her sake, I held myself back. I would be the bigger person here. "Okay. More for me, then."

I ate my pasta at a snail's pace, watching her reactions the whole time. It was petty, I knew, but I deserved a little pettiness after what I'd gone through. Then I reached for her plate, and had a little taste of hers. It was delicious. Somehow, knowing that it was hers made it taste even better.

Lisa grimaced in disgust. I ignored her.

We finished dinner, and she paid for both of us without me having to ask, which was polite of her.

There was a spot about three blocks away from the restaurant, in a park, that had the best view in town: an unobstructed lane of traffic stretching out past the city and toward the horizon. From there, we stood in the chilly evening air, watching our breath mist before us, waiting for the sun set behind those woody hills to the west. If I had to put words to it, I'd almost call it romantic. And for a moment, as the shadows grew ever longer across the Bay, I could forget everything that had happened in the past couple weeks. For a moment, I thought I could actually be happy.

"Okay," Lisa said. "Are we done?"

My smile dropped. Trust Lisa to spoil the mood. But, standing there in that halcyon glow, I had an idea. We just needed skin-to-skin contact, right? Any physical contact would do.

"How about a kiss?" I asked.

"Fuck you—"

"Come on. Just one kiss."

Reluctantly, she leaned in, and I pressed my lips to hers. The moment I made contact, I felt everything: her heart, her nerves, her pain, her disgust. Fireworks. And, searching lower, I felt the cancerous tumors I'd placed around her lungs.

I probably should've healed her. I could've removed the tumors with a single thought.

But… I'd come this far already, hadn't I? What would be the point of any of it if I stopped now? What would be the point of all this pain, this suffering? I would've hurt Lisa for nothing. Lisa would've hurt me for nothing. We'd just go our separate ways, and both of us would be worse off for it.

And besides—she was a villain. Letting her go would be criminal. I knew better than most what she was capable of. Really, I was doing the right thing, keeping her in check, ensuring that one more villain was off the streets. I was doing good.

And, hell—maybe, if I worked at it hard enough, maybe I could even rehabilitate her. It wouldn't be easy, but it was possible. It would just take work, and I was willing to put in the work.

And in return, she was helping me, too, wasn't she? She was making me happy, stabilizing me. She kept me away from the brink with her easy smile and her barbed words. I needed her as much as I needed Victoria. If I looked at it from that perspective, from the big picture, it really was a win-win situation.

So I turned my gaze toward that biological bomb by her lungs, and wound the timer back another week. Just one more week.

Lisa shoved me away. "Amy, what the fuck?" she spat. "You're a fucking psycho. You think this'll make me like you?"

"I'm a hero," I said. "I'm doing what needs to be done."

For both of us.

"Heroes don't do this! You're—what, coercing me into a relationship? That's fucked, Amy. You have to see that. That's so fucking—"

I grabbed her wrist, and suddenly, she shut up, because her larynx had been disconnected from the rest of her throat.

"Y'know what? Let's establish some ground rules," I said. "You'll play along. No bad thoughts. And you don't tell anyone. You'll stay away from my family. If you do all these things… I'll consider letting you go."

Her eyes gleamed with fury, but she was incapable of expressing it in words. I was in control now, and she hated it.

God, she was such a hypocrite, wasn't she? She'd manipulated me, blackmailed me, and only now did she think it was wrong, because she was finally on the other side of the gun.

I stretched my mouth into a parody of her smile. "No, Lisa. Come on. Do the right thing."

Isn't that what you told me?

She was fighting herself, I knew. She was fighting herself the same way that I was always fighting myself, pushing myself to be a good person. And I loved her for it. She really understood me, in a way nobody else did. Not even Victoria.

And that was special, wasn't it?

I think I knew then, that she would be mine forever. No matter what I told myself, or what I told her, deep down inside, I knew that I would never let her go. My little flame in a lantern.

15.

Lisa had taken me home. Not to her home, of course—I'd never seen where she actually lived, and I never would—but my home: the Dallon household.

It was a Friday, so nobody would be home for another hour or so. But Regent set me down on the couch anyway. Lisa disappeared down the hallway, and I couldn't turn my own head to look. Instead, my body reached for the TV remote, and tapped at buttons until something came on the screen: solid blue, Select Input.

"Aha, there we go," my mouth said. "Alright, Panacea, pick your poison." He raised the remote up to my eyes so I could pick a channel.

And then he released my mouth. "Please," I gasped. "Please let me go. I swear I'll—"

My mouth clamped shut, teeth clacking painfully against each other. "Ah, sorry, but that wasn't an option." He tapped one of the buttons at random, and the TV was filled with the sights and sounds of a talking cartoon tiger. "Here you go," Regent said. "Enjoy."

It was only fifteen seconds later that I realized he wasn't letting me blink. He held me there, staring at the screen, until my eyes teared up and the colors ran like wet ink.

Stop, I wanted to scream, but couldn't. It started to burn, an icy-hot flame licking my corneas.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lisa finally came back, and I was allowed to blink once more. And there, in her hand, was a familiar little pill bottle. "There we go. Found it," she said. She lifted the bottle up to the light. "What's this say? One per day? Don't take more than three within twenty-four hours?"

And, horrified, fighting the whole time, I took the bottle from her, popped the lid off, and swallowed fifteen of them. It was like swallowing marbles, but Regent somehow made sure I forced down every single one.

Please. Not like this.

Then, job done, poison inside me, I threw the rest of the bottle in the trash, and returned to the couch. Lisa joined me, seating herself on the opposite end, and together we waited. I grew more and more nauseous, my vision blurring further and further as the day grew long, but we continued to wait silently, until the sun finally set and we could finally hear the telltale sound of the garage door opening.

Carol, Mark, and Victoria had all been at a PRT event that I'd skipped in favor of a date with Lisa, and they were all coming home at the same time.

Immediately, Lisa sprung to action. She must've been planning this, or something like this, for a very long time. She'd dreamed about this—isn't that what she'd said?

It wasn't fair, I wanted to shout. I didn't deserve this. I'd fucked up, I'd hurt her, and I knew that, but God—not this. Anything but this.

"Shut up," Lisa hissed into my ear. "You don't deserve anything after what you did. You understand? You get nothing. You had your fucking chance." And then, more loudly, playing for the back of the house, she said, "Please. I did what you asked. Just let me go!"

"Come on, Vicky," my mouth said. "You're ruining the mood."

My heart skipped a beat, and it wasn't from the massive dosage of antidepressants in my system. Vicky?

The realization hit me like a bullet. No, no, no, not this. I fought against Regent's control, struggled with all my strength. I had to do something, anything to prevent this.

"I just want to go home," Lisa said, her voice cracking. A sob escaped her lips. "Please."

"Shh, shh," my mouth said. "Vicky, come on."

"You know that's not my name!"

And then my family stepped into the room, and my head turned to meet them. From the looks on their faces, they'd heard everything. I wanted to throw up.

"...Ames?" Victoria asked. "What's going on here?"

They were still in their costumes, wearing guarded expressions. None of them moved to approach me, not even Victoria.

"Oh God," Lisa said, hyperventilating, backing away from me. She pressed herself against the wall like they'd attack her at any moment, and I couldn't help but admire her acting skills. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she was actually scared.

It was almost hilarious, in a dark inverted-comedy sort of way. My family were heroes. We were all heroes. She was the only bad guy here—but somehow, the situation had flipped on its head.

"I'm sorry," Lisa said, still crying her heart out. "I'm sorry. Amy, please don't—I'm sorry."

"Shut up," my mouth spat.

"Amy," Carol said. "What are you doing? Why is she crying?"

"Please," Lisa said. "Please! I won't—I won't tell anyone. You don't—you can even leave my hair blonde! It's fine, you don't have to—I just want to go home. Just fix what you did to me, and I won't tell anyone, I swear—"

"Shut up, Vicky," my mouth spat. And then my body froze. "I mean, Lisa."

The whole room went silent. Just like that, all my will to fight drained out of me. It didn't matter anymore. The penny had dropped. There was no going back.

Victoria looked like she was going to throw up. "Oh my God," she whispered. The rest of my family looked similarly horrified, but remained silent, only judging from a distance.

"Come here," my mouth said, beckoning toward Lisa. Slowly, whimpering, Lisa approached. My hand touched hers, and her hair turned black at the roots. "Get out of here."

And Lisa ran, disappearing into the night—but not before whispering one last thing in my ear.

"Amy," Carol said slowly, "What have you done?"

I cried, finally of my own volition—ugly tears, dripping snot, the aftertaste of bile. Regent, it seemed, was willing to let me have this one final indignity to myself. My stomach heaved, and I wanted to throw up, but couldn't manage to go all the way. My whole body trembled, and I knew it had nothing to do with his powers. There was a visceral pain in my heart that wouldn't let up. And it was over.

"I just wanted to be loved," I said in between sobs.

And seeing their disgusted faces, their horrified, outraged expressions, I knew that they would never see me the same again—especially not Victoria, whose blank look of sheer despair chilled me to the core, as if the sun itself had gone out. She would not look me in the eye, and she never would again.

As they all sprung to action—Victoria and Carol keeping watch over me, Mark calling the PRT—I let myself sink into the couch, wishing desperately to disappear. Because I knew that Lisa's last words had been painfully, painfully true:

No one could ever love you.